


If You Are Wrong (In All the Right Ways)

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/M, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-12-07 02:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: The first time Bellamy meets his new incubus coworker, he makes it a point tonotreact to her. After all, demihumans deal with people being jerks to them all the time, and she's clearly expecting him to be the same way. It's a matter of pride that he acts like he doesn't want her to drag her into an empty classroom and have her way with him.But he still wants it, obviously. So that's awkward.





	1. Bellamy POV

**Author's Note:**

> My BFF Steve was livetexting me as he watched an anime called Interviews With Monster Girls, which I wanted to write fic about because a dude pretending he's not into a succubus even though he definitely is. Then he made me watch his favorite episodes so I could see his OTP's dynamic, and it was indeed excellent. I didn't take a ton from the show itself, but the demihuman/demi terminology is theirs.
> 
> The idea of incubi being tops and succubi being bottoms, meanwhile, is from a tumblr post I saw a while ago, and it is both etymologically sound and amazing.

It takes roughly ten seconds for Bellamy to realize that not reacting to touching Clarke Griffin is a huge mistake.

He knows why he doesn't,obviously; he's spent the vast majority of his life doing his best to _not_ react to demihumans. The first time, he was five, and it was a werewolf, a day before the full moon. The kid wanted to intimidate him, and it worked, but there was no way Bellamy was going to show him that it worked. He put on a brave face, the kid backed off, and Bellamy learned a valuable lesson about standing his ground.

Most of the time, though, it's not like that. Most of the time, it's a demihuman who doesn't want to be an asshole, a minotaur who's self-conscious about taking up so much space, a vampire no one will get near even though she's not interested in sucking anyone's blood, his sister just trying to live her life in a world designed for people with two legs. The least he can do is not act like they're impositions who are ruining his day just by existing, because they aren't. And, given he's going to be teaching at a school with a student body made up of predominantly demihumans, he wants to get off on the right foot.

So when Monty--Dr. Green, biology, dryad--introduces him to Clarke--Ms. Griffin, art, incubus--Bellamy offers his hand, like he would to anyone. Clarke looks between his hand and his face for a second, like she's doing calculations, and then she reaches over and shakes.

Bellamy has met incubi and succubi in passing before, but this is his first time making actual physical contact with one. He's read enough to be prepared for what's supposed to happen, to be bracing himself for it, but he's still not actually _ready_. The first touch of Clarke's hand is how he imagines sticking his finger into a socket would be, like getting struck by lightning. He's aware of every inch of space between himself and her and how easy it would be to close that distance, aware of the softness of her skin and the curve of her breasts and the mole above her lip. He wants to pull her on top of him and let her do whatever she wants to him, and he's not sure he's ever wanted anything more.

But his lip doesn't twitch and his control doesn't falter. He gives her hand a firm shake and then lets go, and doesn't let himself step away to get a lungful of fresh air. 

It feels like a good decision, when he's doing it.

"Nice to meet you," he says, smiling. "Art?"

"Art. History?"

"And Social Studies, yeah."

Clarke nods. "Cool, welcome." She claps him on the shoulder, sending another shockwave of lust through him, and then she takes off.

"Are you gay?" Monty asks.

"Bi."

"Did you do some sort of immersion therapy?"

He makes a face. "Isn't that for trauma?"

"I don't know. I've never seen anyone just--not react to Clarke."

He's being nice, but it's probably the worst thing he could say. The lack of reaction to Clarke was already a point of pride, and now that Monty's acknowledged it, there's no way Bellamy can admit how much effort it took.

So he shrugs, easy, pretending his heart isn't still racing and he can't still smell her on the air. "I've always been pretty good with demihumans."

Monty is watching him like he's waiting for a punchline, but Bellamy refuses to give anything away. "I guess so," he finally says. "That's good to know."

And just like that, Bellamy is doomed.

*

At first, he assumes it won't be a big issue because he won't actually see Clarke much. It's an assumption that makes sense, looking at it logically: he and Clarke are in different departments, and while he's pretty sure he's older than she is, she has seniority in this job. He's one of two new hires this year, and he assumes that he and Gaia--Ms. Kimball, Latin, ifrit--will be stuck with most of the shitty jobs while Clarke and the rest of the more senior staff can avoid dealing with dances and clubs and anything else they really don't want to do.

Where his assumption falls apart is Clarke's very nature. While she's relatively well-liked among the staff and students, she is, by necessity, something of a loner. She doesn't come out with the rest of the staff after work, doesn't go to sporting events or dances or any other extracurricular events if she can help it. She makes sure to never be alone with students, and tries not to be alone much with teachers either. 

Or at least she didn't until Bellamy came along.

It hadn't occurred to him how much of a relief it would be for her to be around someone who didn't seem to react to her. So not only does he kind of _want_ to hang out with her, everyone else also wants to push them together all the time, because she finally has someone who can keep her company.

"I can't be the first person who's ever not responded to you," he tells her. It's two weeks into the semester and they're on cafeteria duty together. He's trying very hard to not think about her dragging him into a deserted classroom to have her way with him while also feeling incredibly guilty for not telling her he's trying not to have those thoughts. It's giving him a mild headache, but at least she seems happy. 

"You're not.' She counts off on her fingers. "Straight women, gay men, people on the asexual spectrum, anyone who hasn't hit puberty, all basically fine. But it's always kind of--" She makes an annoyed little sound that shouldn't be nearly as adorable as it is. "It's a risk, I guess. Like, my roommate in college? She thought she was totally straight, but it was almost like--as she spent time around me she got more bicurious? So three quarters of the way through freshman year she realized she was bi and begged me to--" There are enough kids around she doesn't want to say it, so she just waves her hand. 

"And you're not worried about that happening to me?"

"You're not eighteen and sexually confused."

"No, I think I'm good."

"I'd heard that some people have a naturally high resistance," she says, with this kind of wistful tone that suggests she maybe thought they were a myth until she met him.

He's a bastard. But he's at least a bastard for a good cause.

"So if you ever find yourself starting to feel the lust, just let me know, and I'll back off for a few weeks."

The idea of his attraction getting _worse_ is mildly terrifying, but it's not that hard to hide. And the fact that no one else even tries really sucks. He can ignore his boner for a couple hours. Clarke's cool; it's worth it to hang out with her. 

"I'll keep you posted." Kyle Lawson walks by, giving both of them a smile and a wave, and something occurs to him. "How is it with students? Has that ever gone really wrong?"

"Not _really_ wrong. It's an advantage of being an incubus." He cocks his head, and she grins, a toothy expression that goes straight through his veins like lava. "People want me to seduce them, not the other way around."

"So you really are an incubus?" he asks. He'd been wondering, but he didn't want to ask, and even with safe-search on, googling female incubi basically just gave him porn. "I thought maybe there wasn't a difference and you were just sticking it to gender roles."

"No, there's definitely a difference. Something about the pheromones. But it is kind of related to gender roles. It used to be everyone assumed it was just simple. Men are incubi, women are succubi. That's how everyone assumed it worked. But all of that was tied up in cis- and heteronormative assumptions. And my mom's a succubus and my dad's an incubus, so they knew I'd be one, but everyone just assumed I was a succubus."

"That must have been awkward when you found out."

She snorts. "Yeah, it was--weird. I actually found out the first time I hooked up with someone, another incubus. It felt safer than, like--"

"Seducing a human?"

"Consent is a mess," she says, glancing around like she's making sure none of the kids are listening. "And obviously I really did like him. But an incubus and a succubus works out really well, and two incubi--" She shakes her head. "We were both waiting for the other one to make the first move but neither of us actually knew how to be the one to do it."

"So you can be a teacher because you know your students are just thinking about you hitting on them and won't ever start anything themselves?"

"I can be a teacher because I _don't_ think about that," she says, bumping her shoulder against his and sending sparks racing up and down his skin even through the fabric of their clothes. 

"That too."

She sobers. "It's always weird."

"Sorry."

"I'm used to it. It's definitely easier than being a minotaur or something."

"Definitely," he echoes, but he's not really sure it's true. Clarke certainly makes it hard on herself, maybe not harder than it has to be, but she certainly seems more careful than any of the other demihuman he's ever met. It's not like he doesn't get it--he'd be paranoid too--but it still seems like a shame.

"Did you know it's impossible to google fucking anything about incubi without hitting porn?" he grumbles that night.

Miller glances over at him from the fridge. "Why are you googling incubi if you don't want porn?"

"To find out more about incubi. They're people, not just sex objects."

"Add _resources_ in safe search," Miller advises, flopping down next to him on the couch with a beer. "Student?"

"Coworker."

"Hot?"

He makes a face. "She's an incubus. It's not exactly about how hot she is." From a distance, he'd still say Clarke is pretty, but it's so different from what happens when her powers kick in. It doesn't feel like it has anything to do with physical appearance at all.

"She?"

"Yeah, I guess the incubus/succubus distinction is about, uh--technique." Miller's eyebrows shoot up. "She makes people want her to have her way with them, not the other way around."

"So you want some hot incubus girl to top the shit out of you."

"If I'd known that was an option sooner it would probably be a kink for me." He scowls at his laptop. "Seems like it's a kink for a lot of people."

"Try searching platonibus."

"Platonibus?" he asks, unable to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

"I'm better at finding non-pornographic shit than you are."

To his mild annoyance, _platonibus_ really is a thing, a tag people use on twitter and tumblr to discuss all parts of non-sexual relationships with incubi and succubi. Some of it comes from the demihumans themselves, but there are also humans and other demihumans who have incubus or succubus friends sharing what's worked for them to keep their attraction under control. A lot of it sounds familiar-- _think about baseball_ is a recurring theme and seems to be some kind of communal meme--but it's kind of nice to hear that he's not alone.

"I just don't want her to feel uncomfortable around me," he says, ostensibly to Miller but mostly to the universe.

"How bad did you fuck up?"

He wants to say he didn't fuck anything up, but he's on a page called _five reasons to NOT pretend you're not compelled by your inc/suc friend_ , so that's not great. "I don't know. I'm just, uh--pretending I'm immune."

"Dude," says Miller.

"I didn't want to be weird!"

"Not being compelled by an incubus _is_ weird," he points out. "The normal thing would be reacting and then getting over yourself."

"I know. But I don't want to walk it back now. She's so relieved that I'm just--cool."

"There aren't any straight women at your job?" he asks. "It can't be _that_ new for her."

"I think it's probably more that I just--treat her normally. It's not like everyone else is an asshole, but they're kind of set in how they interact with her, and they keep her at a distance."

"And lying to her is better?"

"I didn't mean to. I just didn't want to be an asshole."

"You could just tell her. She already knows you can be normal, right? No big deal."

It's the most obvious solution, but he can't believe it wouldn't change things. Clarke wouldn't have him for an ally anymore, not like she had. She wouldn't have someone around to not treat her like she's a time bomb waiting to go off. If he tells her he's been just biting back on his attraction to her, neither of their lives is going to get better.

"Yeah, maybe," he says, and Miller just shakes his head and gives up.

*

It's not as if Clarke is the only thing on Bellamy's mind. He's got lesson plans to make, several classes of kids (most of whom have their own unique demihuman considerations) to fret over, dances to chaperone, clubs to supervise. He's a busy guy with a lot going on, and even if many of his responsibilities are with Clarke, it's not like he's with her all the time.

Which means it's halfway through November before he discovers that Clarke takes the same train into work that he does, she just takes it a couple hours earlier.

He's going in early that day because he has kids coming in to retake tests and he needs to get some prep work done before that. It's not his first time doing it, but he's running late, so he ends up in the last car instead of the first, flushed and a little breathless from running up the escalator, staring directly at Clarke.

She looks as surprised as he is, and he can see why: there's not a single other person in the car. She probably doesn't see anyone until she gets to school, coming in this early.

He doesn't want that to be the reason she's coming in this early, but he's got a bad feeling.

"Hey," he says, leaving a seat between them when he sits next to her, mostly because there's just so much room. It would be weird if he sat to close to a human in this situation, let alone an incubus.

"Hey."

"Students coming in for retakes?"

The question is half-hearted, and Clarke just gives him a tired smile, all the answer he really needs. "This is just easier," she says.

"I've never really seen you with strangers," he observes. Coworkers, obviously, and students, but he doesn't know what it's like for her to run into someone, figuratively or, even worse, literally. It's not as if she wears a sign; aside from the slight points at the tips her ears, there's no way anyone would know she's an incubus until the attraction hit them, and for that they'd have to touch her.

"I'm careful about it," she says. "It's just--it's more trouble than it's worth."

"What, human contact?"

Judging from her expression, it's not the exaggeration he hoped it was. "I get a lot of work done, going in early."

"I bet."

"You don't have to feel bad for me."

"I'm trying not to." He sighs. "Part of why I wanted to teach demihumans was to figure out how to make stuff easier for them. Did I tell you my sister is a centaur?"

"Wait, really?" she asks, sounding curious. "How?"

"It's on my stepdad's side."

"Yeah, but--" She screws up her face, thinking hard. "I know centaurs aren't actually half-human, half-horse, but it still feels like a half centaur should just be a quarter horse, and I can't picture it."

He has to laugh. "Yeah, that does feel like how it should work. She's not as big as full-blood centaurs are, but unless you interact a lot with centaurs, you're not going to notice that. There are some other differences too, as the centaur bloodline weakens, but nothing that really hides it. She's still got the body of a horse."

"It must have been hard for her. Kids are a lot worse with the non-humanoid demis."

"It was, yeah. We lived in the city, so there were at least some other demihumans around. Not a ton, but she always had at least one in her class."

"Do you always say demihuman?"

He frowns. "Yeah. Why?"

"Most of us prefer demis now."

"Really?"

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and he gets hit with a sudden wave of her scent, a lot to deal with this early in the morning. But she's not looking at him, so she misses his pulling a face. "It's not great no matter what. Either way, it makes it out like humans are the default and the rest of us are deviations. But at least without the human part in there, it's less obvious."

"Okay," he says, nodding. "Demis, got it. My sister had a few demi friends growing up, but she was the only centaur."

"Yeah, I know how that is. My best friend from when I was a kid is a sylph, so he kind of gets it? But we had different things we were dealing with."

"Exactly. Even the minotaurs, it wasn't the same. I used to hate that I didn't get it, so--" He shrugs. "I don't feel bad for you, Clarke. I just want to understand as much as I can and make your life easier. I think that's different."

"I think it probably is." She turns to smile at him, and the softness of her expression makes his heart skip. It's not an incubus thing, just a Clarke thing. He likes her, all on her own. "I thought you were going to be an asshole, you know?"

"I am an asshole."

She ignores him. "I figured this was the only job you could get and you'd be annoyed about it. But you really wanted to work with demis, huh?"

"Yeah, I did."

"You're good at it."

"Thanks."

"Is it easy for you with everyone?"

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You don't really react to me. Is it like that with other demis? Like, sirens can't persuade you? Other incubi and succubi don't tempt you?"

"I've never met another incubus or succubus that I know about. Sirens can definitely tell me what to do."

"I guess I'm just not your type."

It feels like a much bigger lie than saying she doesn't affect him, although to her they're probably exactly the same thing. People who are interested in her are always ensnared, always lured in. She's never had someone just have a crush on her without all the complications. Which is just so, so unfair. She's amazing, and it's not like she needs the help.

"So what else do you do?" he asks, side-stepping the question with what he hopes is some grace. "To keep your powers in check. You always take the first train?"

"Yeah. And then I usually go home around eight or so."

"Fuck, you stay at school that late?"

She shrugs, but he can see the stiffness in it. "It's easier. I bring something to eat for dinner, get some grading done."

It's not an argument to have right now. Besides, she's the expert. It's her life. "Okay, what else?"

"Styling."

He frowns. "Styling?"

"Did you ever see _She's All That_?"

"Yeah. Is it okay to say I think it was a cop-out that she turned out to be a succubus?"

She snorts. "Yeah, that was stupid. And they mostly didn't know anything about succubi, so it rang really false too. But the one thing that did work for that was the makeover. If I dressed like that, it would be a lot more obvious I'm an incubus."

"Why?"

"For the same reason it is in humans and other demis, just more. There's stuff you can do to emphasize your appearance and increase your sex appeal. Like you could wear tighter shirts."

He glances down at himself, frowning. "I'm going to work, I don't really want to look hot."

"So what do you wear when you want to look good?"

"I'm having faith this is related to the question and you don't just want to critique my date outfits. Usually still a button-down, at least for first dates, but no jacket or tie, and I roll the sleeves up. Nice jeans. No glasses. If I'm going to a bar or something, just a t-shirt, maybe a flannel shirt or something."

Clarke nods. "All that stuff works for us too, but it works better. We're designed for seduction. So the more skin I'm showing, the more makeup I'm wearing, even if my hair is up or down--all of that affects how effective I am, as an incubus."

He's never really given much thought to how Clarke dresses, but it's impossible to not reassess her after that. She wears slacks, always, and usually long sleeves with layers, sweaters or vests, things that take the emphasis off her body.

She always looks nice, but now he's mostly going to notice how careful she is.

"I could try to show you?" she offers, looking around the empty car like she's reminding herself it really is just them.

"Show me what?"

"How it works. I know I don't really affect you, but you might still be able to tell there's a change."

The good thing about lying to your incubus friend about how her powers affect you is that it's its own punishment. He's absolutely paying for this.

"If you want to, yeah. No pressure."

Her usual hair style is severe, blonde hair braided and then wrapped in a bun, never a hair out of place. She starts with the bobby pins, removing them one-by-one, and Bellamy offers his hand without thinking about it, letting her drop them into his open palm. Every time her fingers accidentally brush his skin, he feels a jolt like he's burned itself, but the sensation is gone as quickly as it came.

Probably the weirdest part of touching with Clarke is that it does feel _good_. He's sure that if, somehow, he maintained contact with her for more than a few seconds, he'd get used to it, and with the sudden shock gone, it would just be nice.

Once she's done with the bobby pins, she lets the braid down. He catches a whiff of her hair, enough to give him another jolt all by itself. This time, though, he does have time to get used to it as Clarke undoes the braid, combs her fingers through the strands, barraging him with wave after wave of bright floral shampoo and pheromones. 

"Noticing anything?"

"I like your shampoo," he says, because he is kind of an idiot. 

She lets out a soft huff of a laugh. "Thanks." She shakes her hair out, takes her glasses off, and smiles at him, and it's--

Weird, honestly.

Of course, she's gorgeous. And there's something different about her, some added beauty, but it's mostly, well--she's always gorgeous. And it does remind him of all those movie makeovers, because he can recognize that she looks better, that she's got some kind of glow to her, some indefinable aura that does make her more alluring, but it's not like she needs the help.

"Yeah, I can see it," he tells her. "Interesting."

She looks a little exasperated. " _Interesting_?"

"Should it not be?"

"I've just never met anyone as okay with this as you are," she says, starting to gather her hair back up. "I don't get it."

On the one hand, he's lying, so there's a very obvious explanation for why Bellamy is so different from everyone else. But at the same time, he doesn't get why no one else has tried it. He can't have the best poker face of anyone Clarke's ever met.

"The other teachers aren't bad. You and Monty hang out sometimes."

"Yeah, but I can still catch him off guard, and then it's weird again."

"You did warn me you were doing that, so I was ready."

"So if I show up with my hair down when you're not expecting it--"

"I think I'd smell you coming."

It seems like a very weird way to phrase it once he's said it, but Clarke perks up. "So the smell affects you?"

"It's noticeable."

"Huh. Maybe you're just more sensitive to that."

She's got her hair back in the bun, and he holds out his hand so she can put the bobby pins back in. "Maybe. It doesn't bother me," he adds. "You smell nice."

She laughs, shakes her head. " _Nice_ ," she repeats. "Thanks."

*

"I can't believe you got Clarke to agree to come out for drinks."

It's the Friday before winter break, and everyone at work is going for drinks. Monty had asked Bellamy to ask Clarke, but neither of them had been particularly optimistic about her coming. But Miller is a bartender at a place with a private room, so Bellamy can book it at low cost, and the combination of privacy and known group was enough to convince Clarke that she could at least stop by.

Everyone is treating Bellamy like some kind of miracle worker for pulling this off, and, as always, he kind of feels like he can't be the only person who could put in this kind of effort. It's not _hard_.

"The private room did most of the work," he tells Monty. "She just doesn't like crowds."

Monty is watching him, thoughtful. "Does it really not bother you?"

"What would bother me?" he asks. "It doesn't bother me that you're a better gardener than I am. I'm not going to hold a grudge because she's got abilities I don't."

"It's not a grudge, I like Clarke. I wish it was easier to hang out with her. But it's--" He makes a face. "It's weird to be talking to someone and then they turn their head the wrong way and you want her to fuck you. That never happens to you?"

"No," he says, and it's honestly true. It happens to him, the sudden wave of lust, but it doesn't actually bother him. It happens all the time, when--

Fuck, when he _likes_ someone.

Monty's still frowning, which means it's not the time to fully process that the reason why he can deal with his incubus coworker is that he's hiding _actual feelings_ for her, and he's used to pretending he doesn't want to jump people he has crushes on. Everyone does that, it's normal.

"I guess I just react differently," he says, shrugging. 

"I'm really glad," Monty admits, soft. "We all like Clarke, but I think we've all fucked up, once or twice, and once it happens, it's like she puts a wall up. I've never figured out how to get past it again."

Bellamy swallows hard. "I hope that never happens with us."

"Me too. So!" he says, bright, actually visibly changing the subject. "We're going to your roommate's bar, right?"

"The bar where my roommate works, yeah. He's an actor, or trying to be, so he does plays and bartends on the side."

"Human?"

"Yeah. But he's cool with demis, don't worry."

"I figured you wouldn't be taking us somewhere people were going to be assholes." He pauses by the door, looking Bellamy over one more time. "Thanks again. For--I think it's going to be fun."

"Yeah," he agrees. "I'm hoping so."

At the end of the day, he heads to Clarke's room, knocks on the door jamb and smiles when she jolts up from her desk, hair escaping a little from her tidy bun, glasses sliding down her nose. He thinks the surge of fondness has nothing to do with cracks in her severe facade and everything to do with _her_. He's definitely got a crush.

"Hey."

"Hi. What's up?"

"Honestly? I think you're going to bail on drinks tonight, so I'm here to make sure you don't."

"I was actually just trying to figure that out," she admits.

He leans against the table across from her desk. "What, how to bail? I'd fake an emergency text if I were you. But I'd make you show me your phone, so--"

Her mouth twitches. "How to get there. Have a little more faith in me."

"I was thinking about that too. The train's going to be pretty crowded, but we could grab a cab. It won't be that expensive if we split it. Are you going home to change?"

"I guess I probably could? What about you?"

"I brought a change of clothes, so if you don't mind me going to your place, we could take a cab there." He pauses. "Is it better for you to have company? I thought that would help, but--"

"No, you're right. Part of it's just--" She shakes her head, looking a little wistful. "I like having a witness, honestly. In case something happens."

"Okay, so we'll get a cab to your place, hang out for a little while, and then go to the bar. Can we walk from your place?"

"Yeah, I think so. Does your roommate walk to work?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "I figure we must live pretty close together, right? We take the same train."

"Yeah, and you got one on stop after I did."

"Cool, so we'll walk over to the bar. If you really don't mind having me around."

"I really don't. You can be the first coworker I've ever had over to my place."

"Awesome. Ten minutes for the taxi."

"Did I thank you?"

"I assume you're going to pay half."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I didn't really do much," he says. "Giving Miller business is a no-brainer, and I'm just here because I don't trust you to show up if I don't make you. Maybe don't thank me for forcing you to socialize."

"Yeah, you're right. Fuck you."

"Much better."

"What did you bring to change into?"

"T-shirt and jeans, nothing special. Why, do you need advice? We can do a montage scene where you show me a bunch of outfits."

"Or I'm just wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Maybe a turtleneck."

"What do you do in summer?"

"Sweat."

It's one of those things that she says like a joke, but he knows better than to believe it. Clarke probably does wear way too many layers all through summer, and that's just how it is.

"Do you ever date?" he asks.

She looks surprised. "Sort of."

"You're going to have to give me more than that," he teases, when she doesn't continue. "That's not an answer."

"I've had a few relationships, nothing since college."

"I assume there's a story there."

"Definitely. Try asking again after I've had a couple drinks."

It's a little exciting, the prospect of real, extended time spent hanging out with Clarke. It's been a while since he was interested in someone, probably since he and Echo split a couple years back, and even if this crush is kind of stupidly complicated, it doesn't actually feel totally impossible. If Clarke dates, and wants to date, she might want to date him, if only he can figure out how to get past the weird hurdle of his pretending he's not into her.

He changes in the bathroom when they get back to her place, and by the time he's done, she's changed too, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved raglan jersey, white with black sleeves and a cartoon sun on the front. Her glasses are still on, but she's unwound her braid from the bun, more casual without losing the austerity. 

He's pretty sure the swoop of his stomach is about half because of the incubus thing and half because of the crush, but the exact proportions don't matter much. She looks nice, and, even better, she looks happy.

"I was thinking one drink here?" she offers. "I realized I probably don't want to talk about my exes at the bar with everyone else."

"You don't have to talk about them with me if you don't want to. But I'll definitely do a drink."

Clarke's fridge has a lot more booze in it than food, which is a little concerning, but it's probably a little early in their friendship for him to be fretting about whether or not she takes good enough care of herself. There'll be time for that later.

"Tell me about your relationship history first," she decides, grabbing a cider and giving him one too when he nods. "Are you single?"

"Yeah, for about--two or three years? My last girlfriend actually used to work at the bar we're going to, but she moved away to go to grad school and we broke up. Nothing traumatic or anything, I just haven't dated since then. Honestly, I didn't date that much before then either. A couple high-school relationships that don't really count, one guy and one girl in college, and then Echo."

Clarke nods. "I had the other incubus in high school, but that wasn't really a relationship. My roommate and I had a kind of friends-with-benefits thing for freshman year, and then I met a guy sophomore year and I thought we really hit it off. He was human, and he was really open about, like--he thought it was hot that I was an incubus, but I thought he liked _me_ too. And then it turned out he already had a girlfriend, and when she called him out for cheating he said that he couldn't help it."

"Jesus, what an asshole."

She shrugs. "He probably couldn't."

"No, that's bullshit. Maybe he couldn't help being attracted to you, but he didn't have to cheat on his girlfriend. He could have broken up with her, and that would have sucked for everyone, but it would have been less shitty. You didn't make him cheat on her. That has nothing to do with you."

She looks down at her cider, a smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, that's what his girlfriend said too. We're agreed he was an asshole and we're still friends."

Part of him has trouble believing she _has_ friends, but he's just as glad to hear he's wrong about that. One less thing for him to worry about. "Good. But you don't date after that?"

"That was half of it. I figured after that I'd just date other demis, and I really hit it off with a siren junior year, but we didn't really agree about demi stuff."

"What about it?"

"She thought I worked too hard to accommodate humans. And it was kind of appealing to me, then? To stop worrying about humans would react to me and make that their problem. She said I shouldn't care if I made anyone uncomfortable."

"I might agree with her, but it's your call."

"It wasn't that I disagreed so much as--I guess I realized it didn't make _me_ comfortable? I didn't like just having everyone reacting to me when I was just trying to be a person. I learned how to use my appeal better, it's easy to manipulate people, but I don't want to do that by accident. So she thought I was denying who I was, I thought she didn't get what it was like for me, and we just--it was a rough breakup. And then I just--I didn't give up, but I don't really know what I'm looking for. And it's always a headache, figuring out relationships."

"Do people get used to you?" he asks. "When you date. Is it always intense for them to touch you or look at you?"

"They do build up kind of an immunity. I never dated anyone long enough for it to happen, but I've heard about it from other people. We can always kind of--turn on the charm, but the passive stuff gets less intense."

"I don't actually think it's fair that you worry about this so much," he admits. "I'm not saying you should stop, but--"

She taps her cider bottle. "I've decided it's not about being an incubus. That's part of it, don't get me wrong, but--maybe I'm just not very social. I don't mind not seeing people."

"Really? Because you seemed pretty excited to hang out with me."

"Maybe I just like you," she says, casual and easy, and his heart flips over.

"Yeah," he says, a stupid smile taking over his face. "Maybe that's it."

*

Bellamy's plans for his winter break are to hang out on his couch in his pajamas, eating cereal for most of his meals, and trying to make it through the backlog of video games that he hasn't been playing during the first half of the semester. He's not going to shave, and he's going to call his sister on Christmas, tell her he loves her and misses her, and then buy himself some Chinese food. Miller will drag him out for New Year's Eve, and he'll try to limit himself to texting Clarke only once or twice. He can wish her a merry Christmas and a happy new year and ask her like once how her break is going. Normal, friend stuff.

She texts him on the second day of break, while he's eating Lucky Charms and playing _Kingdom Hearts III_ , which is as surprising as it is welcome.

 **Clarke** : Hey, what are you doing today?

 **Me** : Cool adult stuff  
Very mature  
Why?

 **Clarke** : I've got some friends coming over to play board games today  
They wanted me to invite you  
But if you're busy...

 **Me** : No, definitely not  
That was bullshit  
What time?  
I haven't showered since break started

 **Clarke** : Hot  
Starting around 3?  
We'll order pizza

 **Me** : Sounds good  
Should I bring anything?

 **Clarke** : Not unless you want to  
I don't have many snacks but Murphy usually brings chips

 **Me** : Cool  
See you soon

It's only eleven and it'll take him about twenty minutes to walk to Clarke's, so in theory he has plenty of time to keep on lounging around, but this is going to consume his brain for the rest of the day. Once he's found a save point, he hops in the shower and gets cleaned up, and then he checks the pantry. He has all the ingredients for chocolate-chip cookies, so he gets those going, and by the time they're in the oven, he's at least feeling a little more normal. Still excited, but not abuzz with nervous energy. Calmer.

"Have you told her you like her as a person yet?" Miller asks, stealing one of the cooling cookie.

"I'm building to it."

"You should bring her back to the bar. And the cute dryad."

"He has a name."

"Yeah, that's why you should bring him. So I can learn his name."

"Monty." 

"Thanks for ruining the surprise. You should really figure out how to tell her you're attracted to her. She's going to get it. Fuck, I was a little into her and I don't even like women."

"It's not about that. I just want to figure out how to tell her--" He runs his hand through his hair. "Her incubus thing works on me, but that's not why I like her."

"That sounds like good news. Way better than you just wanting to fuck her because of her pheromones."

"Yeah, I know. Trust me, you're not giving me news here. I'm working on it, but this stuff takes time."

"Uh huh. Well, the cookies are good, if it helps. She's definitely going to want to fuck you when she figures out you can bake."

"Yeah, that's the plan." He sighs. "I'd better go get changed."

He doesn't have any good excuse to dress up, and he doesn't think Clarke would be particularly into his date clothes anyway, so he just finds a clean t-shirt and his favorite jeans and throws a flannel on over, since Clarke's place was a little cold last time. He shaves, but doesn't bother with his contacts, and spends longer than he'd like to admit fiddling with his hair.

Crushes suck, seriously.

It's his first time actually walking to Clarke's from his place, and it doesn't actually take as long as he expected it to. He gave himself twenty minutes to be on the safe side, and it only takes ten, plus he was hoping to be a little early, so it's only 2:47 when he gets to Clarke's with his sweaty palms and tupperware full of cookies.

He could take a lap around the block to not be weird, or he could remember that showing up ten minutes early isn't actually weird and they're friends.

He rings the buzzer, and the intercom crackles to life. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Bellamy, it didn't take as long to get here as I thought it would."

"Oh, cool. No problem. Come on up."

The door unlocks with a click and Bellamy heads up to her apartment on the second floor. She opens the door with a bright smile he only sees for about a nanosecond before his lungs fill with her scent and his eyes are drawn down. 

Bellamy hadn't really thought about Clarke's breasts, which in retrospect makes no sense--he loves breasts. But everything she wears de-emphasizes her chest, and he's been trying not to think about specifics of her body. He feels creepy enough already.

But she's wearing a _tank top_. There's miles of smooth, bare skin on display, and every time he tries to look somewhere safe, he just realizes there's nowhere safe. Her whole body is a minefield with her absolutely perfect breasts at the center.

"So, not totally immune," Clarke says, her smug tone jolting him out of his trance.

"Well, you did catch me off guard." He rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. Let me just go grab my other shirt."

"You don't have to."

She tosses a grin over her shoulder. "No?"

"I'm getting used to it."

"Seriously, I don't get how you have such high resistance."

"It's not like I don't notice sometimes," he says, which is true even if it's a total understatement. "It just doesn't bother me. You're hot, it's not a big deal."

"Not for humans." She disappears into her room and re-emerges in a flannel of her own, buttoned up but not as high as it would be at school. He can't see the plunge of cleavage anymore, but he still remembers it. "You can be human and be hot and it's fine. Look at you."

"Sorry, are you saying I'm not hot enough for you you lose all control? I must be doing something wrong."

She flicks the collar of his flannel shirt. "This is really working for me, if it helps."

"Bisexual flannel, it's a thing." His voice is even, even though this is _flirting_ , definitely and without question. She's totally flirting with him.

"Clearly. Did you bring cookies?"

Between the cleavage and the flirting, he had completely forgotten about them. "It sounded like you didn't have a ton of food."

She squints at the tupperware. "Did you _make_ cookies?"

"I had some time."

She beams up at him, and he could just duck his head down to kiss her. It feels kind of weird, thinking about making the first move, but he _could_. 

"Who else is coming?" he asks instead.

"It's going to be small." Maybe he's just projecting, but he can't help feeling like she's shaking herself out of it too. "My friend Raven, from college, and my friend Murphy and his girlfriend. They're all pretty used to me."

"Which is why you're wearing that?"

"Lexa made some good points, I need _some_ time to be myself. But work really isn't a good place for it. Neither is the train."

"Yeah, I guess not."

"Do you want something to drink? I'm getting some milk so I can try a cookie."

He follows her into the kitchen and gets some water, leans on the counter and feels only a little anxious as she grabs a cookie. It's a _cookie_ ; he knows he didn't fuck it up. He makes awesome cookies.

Clarke takes a bite and grins. "I can't believe you don't bring these to school."

"I probably will when we get closer to the end of the year. I'm a stress-baker."

"So you were stressed about coming to play board games with my friends?" she teases, like this wasn't actually exactly what happened.

"I haven't met your friends."

"Murphy's kind of a dick, but he's the only person I've ever been able to live with without it getting weird," she says, taking another bite of her cookie. "He's a vampire on the ace spectrum, so I affect him sometimes, but it wasn't like--it was kind of freaky for him, but interesting too. He said it helped him figure out why allosexual people have such a hard time."

"Always teaching, huh?"

"That's me. His girlfriend is Emori, she's cool. I was pretty worried when they started dating because, like--"

"A lot of things could go wrong there."

"Pretty much. She said she was like a Kinsey two, so she could have been into me, or she might have been jealous about Murphy sometimes getting hit with weird lust, but she just thinks it's all hilarious. It's nice."

"So I'm not the only person ever who hasn't reacted to you."

"No, they all reacted to me, even Murphy. They were just chill about it. Monty is too," she adds, with a little smile. "But it's always a lot weirder with coworkers. Present company excluded."

"Thanks." He swallows hard, trying to line up words in his head. _I reacted, I just didn't tell you_ , that's something he could say. Or _I react, I'm just a stubborn asshole_.

 _I react, but that's not in the ton ten reasons I want to kiss you_ is also kind of tempting.

The doorbell rings, and Clarke startles, flashes him a smile. "Real quick, Raven? The last friend? She's the one whose boyfriend was cheating on her with me. It's been years, but--I figured you'd want to know."

"Yeah, thanks for the head's up. We can talk about how he's a dick and you didn't do anything wrong."

She hits the buzzer to open the door downstairs. "He might have gotten better, it's been a while."

"I reserve the right to not be charitable to your exes. That's what friends are for."

"Whatever makes you happy," she says, but she can't hide her smile.

Raven is at the door, a gorgeous latina who hugs Clarke and immediately adds, "You've still got it."

"That's how it works, yeah."

She looks Bellamy up and down and then nods. "You're the new coworker?"

He offers his hand. "Bellamy, yeah. Nice to meet you."

"You too. I brought Sagrada, but it's only for up to four players."

"That's fine, we can always split up if we have to. Monty says we have to play something called Mysterium, he loaned me his copy." Clarke glances back at Bellamy. "Are board games a thing for you?"

"Sure. Miller likes them. Plus he thinks Monty is cute, so I'm definitely setting them up, so maybe board games could help. I haven't heard of any of these, but I'll try anything once."

"That's the spirit," says Raven. "Clarke, where's the booze?"

Murphy and Emori show up ten minutes later, and the five of them fall into an easy rhythm for the afternoon. What's most striking to Bellamy is how different Clarke is with her friends than she is at work, which makes sense, but there's a palpable ease in her skin, a lack of tension he's never seen before, even when they're alone. As glad as he is she does get to unwind like this sometimes, it makes him all the more aware of how much she _doesn't_ get this.

Maybe he could start hosting board game nights, too. Miller would be fine. He's so chill it's impossible to not relax around him. Monty could come, and Clarke's friends. It could be nice.

Clarke goes to grab the pizza and Raven sidles up to Bellamy, giving him another once over. "She said you're not into her. That's bullshit, right?"

"Why would I ever have this conversation?"

She smirks like that's a really meaningful reply, but there's really no actual good answer to that kind of question. He figured that out with his sister, years ago. "What, you don't want my theories on if she's into you too?"

"Why would I want theories? Unless you've got concrete information about whether or not she's into me, I don't really care."

"I think if you told her you get whammied sometimes, she wouldn't be upset. How's that?"

It's a risk, but this _is_ Clarke's friend. And just because she's kind of fucking with him doesn't mean her intentions aren't good. "Good feedback."

Raven leans forward, expression sobering. Murphy and Emori are finishing up a game of Keyforge, not paying attention to the two of them, and Bellamy hopes no one interrupts them before they get to the meat of this conversation. "It's been a while since I thought she was interested in someone. And, like I said, she hasn't told me she is. But she talks about you a lot. So--good luck, and if you're a dick, I'm going to kick your ass."

"Fair enough. Thanks."

She pats his knee and grabs her cane. "Any time," she tells him, and goes to watch Emori and Murphy's game.

Since he's apparently not being subtle anyway, Bellamy heads to the kitchen to check on Clarke, only to find her struggling with the pizza box.

"Everything okay?"

She jumps and turns, giving him a somewhat sheepish smile. "This is one of those boxes that's supposed to turn into a display thing and I'm not doing that well with it."

"It's a pizza box, Clarke, I'm pretty sure we all know how it works."

"I know. I just wanted it to be--cool." She sighs. "Anyway, are you having fun?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I know it was short notice. Sorry if you--"

Without thinking, he puts his hand on her shoulder. With the barrier of a single layer of cloth, it's not as intense as touching her bare skin, but it's still a lot, a jolt of reminder that she's more than just a human girl he likes. But he leaves his hand there for another second anyway, trying to get used to it. "You don't have to apologize for inviting me over to hang out. I like hanging out. You should invite me over more often."

"We don't all manage to get together that often, but I'll let you know."

"Does this mean I can invite you to stuff too?" he asks. "Are we at that friendship level?"

"As long as you won't get offended if I say no."

"I'm glad you get stuff like this," he offers. "Just--hanging out with friends. I was getting kind of worried."

"Thanks. I'm good, seriously. I'm antisocial and an incubus, not antisocial because I'm an incubus." She picks up the pizza. "Help me take this out?"

As they eat dinner and play another round of Mysterium, Bellamy finds his mind drifting back to what Raven said. He probably doesn't have to tell Clarke he has feelings for her, but coming clean about his reactions to her as an incubus is feeling necessary. It's probably the first time in his entire life he's felt guilty for not telling someone he wants to fuck them, but if he's going to hang out with her more, he probably needs to square this. If he's not going to be her boyfriend, he at least wants to be her friend like these people are, the way where he's attracted to her and it's just not a big deal. And he thinks he can get there. He just wants to make sure they're all on the same page.

It's not even hard to stick around after everyone else leaves. Raven has a new boyfriend and she's meeting up with him for a late movie, so she takes off first. Murphy and Emori stick around for one more game before saying they'd better go too, and no one ever suggests Bellamy should leave with them, so he just--doesn't.

"I'll help you clean up," he says instead, and after that's done, Clarke offers him another drink and they end up in her living room with Bellamy showing no outward signs of dying of stress.

No wonder he did so well convincing her the incubus thing didn't bother him; he's pretty good at this.

"So, uh--" he starts, into the slightly awkward silence. "I should tell you something."

It's heartbreaking to watch the tension speed back into her posture, the stiff uncertainty crowding out her loose happiness so completely that Bellamy finds it hard to believe she was ever actually relaxed.

"What's up?"

"It's not that bad," he says. "Uh, I hope. I just--" He rubs the back of his neck. "I'm not as immune to your incubus thing as I said I was."

A shutter goes over her expression. "What do you mean?"

"Mostly that I'm a stubborn asshole. You looked like you were shaking my hand to show me how stupid I was for offering in the first place, so I just--pretended it didn't do anything for me."

"But it did."

"Yeah. It always does. It doesn't mean--that has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

The words slip out and Clarke pounces on them like a hawk, her eyes jerking up, eyes wide with shock. But when she speaks, her tone is dismissive, uncaring, "It definitely does."

"Clarke."

"It's okay, I get it."

"I really don't think you do. Fuck, I'm not explaining it right, I--"

"Let me help." She puts her beer aside and starts unbuttoning her shirt. "This does it for you?"

"You're gorgeous," he shoots back. "You don't have to be an incubus to look good in a tank top."

Her fingers pause, and he can see her taking a slow breath, in and out, recentering. "What are you trying to get out of this conversation, Bellamy?"

"I just felt shitty lying to you. But it's not like I'd tell a human that I wanted to fuck them the first time I met them. I might never tell them. It feels wrong that just because you're an incubus, I'm supposed to ignore all social conditioning and let you know exactly what I want you to do to me."

"Which is what, exactly?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "I guess it depends on what you mean. I don't actually _want_ anything from you, Clarke. Not like that. I really just--I like you. I don't want to hook up with you to get you out of my system."

After a second, she goes back to her flannel, finishing off the buttons and shrugging it off. Her expression has shifted, but he doesn't know what exactly to make of it; his body definitely wants this to end in sex, but he's used to ignoring it by now.

"I might have been trying to fuck with you," she says.

"When?"

"With the tank top. Honestly, the worst thing about--I always want people to like me for me, not because of the incubus thing, but whenever the incubus thing doesn't work on someone, it feels like there's something wrong with me."

"Well, uh, good news. The incubus thing works on me and I still like you for you. That's actually kind of how I figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

"Monty was telling me it's weird for him because he's not interested in you, and then you'll touch him and suddenly--" He waves his hand. "Whammy. I'm pretty much always thinking about how much I want to make out with you. You don't need to put in any effort. This is actually a little easier."

She squeezes her arms to deepen her cleavage, which is unfair. "That's easier?"

"Jesus. Yes, it's still easier. I notice when the pheromones hit, I didn't notice I had a crush on you for months. I can just fight the pheromones."

She tugs the flannel closed again. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be--I don't really know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I really don't want this to change things."

"No?"

He scrubs his hand over his face, sending a silent _fuck you_ to Raven for making him think this conversation might be okay. "I want you to feel the same way I do," he admits. "But if you don't, yeah. You're my friend and I want you to feel comfortable, but I also don't want to be lying to you." 

"And how you feel is that you like me," she says, slowly, like she's sounding out the words. "Like--you want to date me."

"Yeah."

Bellamy and Miller have one big couch in their living room, while Clarke has a love seat and a bunch of armchairs. It made sense as soon as he'd thought about it, an easy way to maintain personal space, and in deference to that, he took one of the armchairs. Clarke was seated across from him, but now she stands and comes over, straddling his hips as she sits down in his lap. It's far and away the most physical contact he's ever had with her, enough to make his head spin, but all he does is smile.

"If this isn't you telling me you want to date me, you're an asshole."

She laughs. "I really do. I just--I don't know how to be sure."

"Sure about what, exactly?"

"That it's real."

"It's not really hard to tell the difference," he says. "All the stuff I feel when you're not sitting in my lap is real. Not that this isn't real, but--" He laughs. "Shit, Clarke, it's all real. You're amazing."

"Can you kiss me?"

It's not the question he was expecting, and the part of him that's focused on her _in his lap_ , the part that's overwhelmed and turned on and kind of dying, pushes back against it. It's not his job to kiss Clarke; she's going to kiss him. That's how incubi work; they're the instigators.

But the rest of him doesn't give a single shit; he wraps his hand around the back of her neck, fingers sliding up into her hair as he pulls her down to kiss her.

He's bracing himself for immediate over-stimulation, but it doesn't actually happen. The scent of her floods him, but it's not the violent shock it sometimes is. It's a kiss--a good kiss, and a relief--but he'd honestly been worried he'd pass out or something.

"Must suck always having to make the first move," he murmurs.

"Just when I want to be sure."

"Did it work?"

"You should maybe do it one more time."

He grins and pulls her in again. She's more eager this time, pressing in closer, pushing him back against the chair. When she slides her tongue against his lips, he opens for her, and _there's_ the moment he was expecting, the shock of attraction and desire, the explosion of want all over his body.

Clarke pulls back fast, tucking her face against his neck to laugh. "Sorry."

"It wasn't _bad_ ," he says, more than a little dazed. "I thought that would happen the first time."

"It doesn't really take over until I'm--driving," she says. "I always try to wait, but I'm kind of impatient."

"I was taking it too slow?"

"I've been wanting this too," she admits, soft. "I'm excited."

He tugs the tie out of her hair, gently dismantling her braid with her fingers. "You should do it again," he says, and she only has to think about it for a second before she's got one hand on his chest, pushing him down, and her mouth on his, kissing him hot and hard, sending sparks shooting through his whole body. He did read a little about what people said it was like, hooking up with an incubus, but it was all about guys, and all of it read more like pornographic fantasy more than real firsthand account. 

It's overwhelming, but never so much so that he loses track of himself. He gets his free hand, the one that isn't in Clarke's hair, under her shirt, mapping the smooth skin of her back as he pulls her closer, opens his mouth for her to kiss deeper. He is getting used to it, or at least accustomed to it, finding a way to focus on the good feelings instead of just the sensory overload.

"What do you like?" she asks.

"This is good."

She nips his jaw, teasing. "Bellamy."

"Honestly, I don't like having sex in chairs."

To his surprise, she starts to laugh, her incubus facade cracking open with it. "I know you think you aren't immune to me or whatever, but--not everyone can do what you do. You don't just fall apart."

"I can try to fall apart in your bed if you want."

"I kind of do."

He leans up to steal another kiss before pushing her off his lap. "You're so competitive."

"This is my thing! I'm supposed to reduce people to incoherent puddles of lust."

"Let me text Miller that I'm not coming home and then you can try again."

She laughs. "I'll see what I can do."

He hasn't actually seen Clarke's bedroom before, which isn't surprising given it's only his second visit to her place. It's on the small side, so the space is somewhat dominated by the queen-sized bed. It's made in the sloppy way Bellamy often makes his bed, covers rugged up to the pillows and smoothed down a little. She favors the left side of the bed, and he's excited that this is knowledge he has good reason to care about. 

"I guess I kind of invited myself to spend the night," he observes, inspecting a collage of photos on her wall. "I don't have to."

"Seriously, you _must_ have some kind of immunity."

"Maybe. I just figured no one else was putting in the effort."

"That's probably part of it. You're an incubus and people figure they can just say exactly how they feel about you. Present company excluded, as usual," she adds, grinning. "But there's definitely something else about you."

"Does that mean you're sure I like you for you?"

"Getting there." She worries her lip, looking him up and down. "Do you want to stay the night?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to get laid?"

"Definitely."

"Good." She tugs him down for a quick, sharp kiss. "Feel free to turn off your brain and melt into a puddle of goo, okay? I don't mind."

"No promises," he says, and means it until she actually pulls her tank top off and unhooks her bra. "Fuck."

She gives him a gentle push that's much more compelling than it should be; he falls back onto her bed without any real input from his body. He gets why people have trouble writing accurate accounts of this; it feels like porn as it's happening to him.

At the same time, Clarke might have a point about his immunity, because there's a beautiful incubus he's kind of in love with climbing on top of him, and he's still having semi-coherent thoughts.

"That's the idea," she murmurs, giving him a sharp nip on the shoulder. "Shirt off."

He could resist,but he doesn't actually want to; he sits up just enough to tug it off, and then Clarke pushes him back down, her hands mapping out his bare chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He does think he's getting used to it, the whole incubus thing, or at least getting better at compartmentalizing. There are the things he wants to do because she's an incubus, the things he wants to do because he always likes them, and then the things he wants to do because this is _Clarke_ , because he's been falling for her for weeks and he wants to find out what she likes.

"Do you have any idea how good you look in tight t-shirts?" she mutters, mostly to herself. "You're so unfairly hot."

"You're literally an incubus," he shoots back. "You don't get to talk."

"You're holding your own." She kisses his sternum. "I can't even decide what I want to do first. I want to do everything."

"We've got time," he says. "This isn't just going to be one night, right? We talked about this."

"I still want everything now." 

"When do I get what I want?"

"Depends on what you want."

He slides his own hand up her chest, but it's not the right position for him to grope her, so he keeps going, pushing her shoulder gently until she falls back on the bed. "I want a better angle," he says, leaning in for a kiss.

To his surprise, she lets out a bright peal of laughter, all disbelieving delight.

"What?" he asks.

"I'm an _incubus_ ," she says. "People want me on them, that's how I know I'm an incubus. That's what the word _means_. No one's ever pushed me off them before."

He slides down to press a kiss against the swell of her right breast. "Should I stop?"

Her hand comes up to curl in his hair, holding him in place. "You better not."

"I've been wanting to get my hands on your breasts since that stupid tank top," he says, kissing down her breast to the nipple, swirling his tongue around it and making her arch off the bed.

"I've been wanting it for a lot longer."

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he says, giving her breast a final, gentle kiss before he settles into doing his best to drive Clarke out of her mind with his hands and mouth. It's not difficult; her breasts are perfect, and she seems to think his hands are too. She moans and tugs his hair as filthy things spill out of her mouth, and he could do this all night, just this, and be satisfied.

But Clarke wants more. Something snaps in her all at once and she's turning them back over, pushing him flat onto the bed.

"What?"

"I want to ride your face," she says, kicking off her jeans. "Cool?"

"I've never done that one, but I'll try anything once." He grins. "Also, it sounds really hot."

"That's the incubus pheromones."

"Or it's the way I love oral."

"A lot of factors." She presses a kiss to his lips. "This is probably going to be a lot, so--I'll try not to let you get too carried away."

"I thought you thought I was immune."

"Not _totally_ immune." 

As it turns out, her concern isn't unfounded. She gets herself positioned carefully, and right from the first scent of her over him, his reason flies right out the window. He can't help tugging her in, getting her lined up so he can taste her, and her laugh turns into a moan as his tongue flicks over her entrance.

"Yeah," she murmurs, pushing down. "Just like that. That's good."

Bellamy isn't one of those guys who brags about his sexual prowess, but he does think he's pretty good in bed, and oral is something of a specialty of his. The new position would maybe make him nervous under ordinary circumstances, but the incubus pheromones are enough to make him more desperate and eager than anxious. The small corner of his brain that's still concerned with Clarke's pleasure is appeased by her moans and encouragement, leaving most of his focus on how fucking good this feels. Eating girls out is always a turn-on for him, but it's never been like this. He thinks he could come just from this, and when her first orgasm rocks through her he doesn't even pause, barely remembers to breathe. All he wants is more.

She's the one to put a stop to it, after her second orgasm. She rolls off of him, breathless and laughing, and his senses return. His face is sticky and his mouth is a little numb, his dick straining at his jeans. He's a little dizzy, probably from lack of oxygen, and he's not sure he's ever been this turned on in his life.

"I did warn you," says Clarke.

"Yeah, but--holy shit. That was amazing."

"It was?"

She sounds surprised, because there's no justice in the world. "Obviously I still want to get off, but I probably would have if you'd let me keep going."

"I was afraid you were going to suffocate if I let you keep going."

He grins. "What a way to go."

"I don't want to kill you right when we start dating." 

"Yeah, wait until the resentment builds up." He takes a few more deep breaths, centering himself. "Okay, so, uh--what next?"

"I was going to grab a condom." She presses a quick kiss to his lips. "You should be naked."

It seems like an easy request, but she leans over to root through the drawer of her nightstand and it takes him a second to pull his focus away from her ass. But staring at her just gets him harder, a good reminder that if he just gets naked, he's going to feel so much better.

Clarke finds the condom and turns her attention back to him, and the way she stares at the first sight of him is fairly gratifying. He knows he's an attractive guy, but Clarke is an incubus. She probably has high standards, even if she doesn't actually get laid very often.

"I'm guessing you want to be on top," he says, and she snorts.

"Is that a problem?"

"No, definitely not. Just let me--" He pulls her in to kiss her again. It's supposed to be a quick, warm gesture, but it turns dirty in no time, Clarke sliding on top of him, straddling his hips, and they barely pull apart to fumble the condom onto him. Clarke slides down in a quick, fluid motion, hot and wet and perfect around him, and he doesn't _think_ he's going to pass out, but it is a lot.

"I'll give you a second," she says, leaning down to press kisses against his neck.

"That's usually my line."

"Perks of dating a sex demon." Still, she has to let out a long breath too. "Good?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." She starts slow, rolling her hips, and Bellamy wants to keep pace with her, but he's only human. She feels so good and he feels like he's been waiting for so long, even though he knows he's waited longer before. He anchors his hands on her ass, pulling her close as he pushes into her, but her mouth is still against his neck, kissing and nipping and urging him on. She matches him thrust for thrust, the two of them finding the perfect rhythm as they go.

Under ordinary circumstances, he'd try to make sure that she came at least twice before he did, but between the oral and the pheromones, he doesn't even feel bad for coming right after she does, the waves of her orgasm all he needs to push him over the edge. It's the kind of orgasm he doesn't get much, hot and intense, like he hasn't come for weeks even though he jerked off yesterday morning. He understands how people used to get addicted to this, how they died of it, it's that good.

But then they catch their breaths, Clarke disentangles herself, takes the condom from him after he's tied it off to throw it away, and snuggles up to his side, wrapping herself around him. After the orgasm, her touch is less intense, a warmth more like a candle than an inferno, and it's mostly just--nice. 

He kisses her hair. "So, uh--that was okay, right?"

"Just okay?" Her voice is too sleepy and content to get all the way to offended, but she's at least a little huffy.

"That was amazing," he corrects. "For me."

"Me too."

"So we're--you're my girlfriend, right?"

She leans up for a kiss. "Yeah. You're not getting rid of me now."

He grins. "Good."

*

"Honestly, this makes a lot of sense," says Monty. "And makes me feel so much better."

They're back at the bar, because Bellamy is a good friend and wingman who makes sure his roommate has a chance to hit on the guy he likes. Clarke is tucked into his side, buttoned up and minimally tempting, but still gorgeous and perfect and his favorite person in the world. And obviously he sometimes wants to jump her in public, but he figures that's fine. She wants to jump him sometimes too. It's part of being in love.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Clarke asks, frowning like she can't make her mind up whether or not she should be offended.

"No offense, but if Bellamy really was _that_ unaffected by you, I thought he had to be some sort of super-immune demi. Or he was just a better person than I am? And that didn't seem right."

"God forbid," Bellamy says, dry.

"But if he just didn't want you to know he was into you? Yeah, I get that. I tried so hard to hide my crush on this girl in seventh grade that I accidentally convinced her I was in love with my best friend. I would say all sorts of stupid shit if I was trying to convince an incubus I wasn't into her."

"It's not _just_ that he was lying," Clarke protests. "He definitely has some super-human ability to--" She trails off, probably realizing that anything she could possibly add would have very clear implications about their sex life.

There's no way he's letting her off the hook that easily, though. "Super-human ability to what?"

"Focus," she says, firm. "He's very good at not getting too carried away."

"I don't know how to ask follow-up questions without prying," Monty says. "But I honestly have so many follow-up questions."

Clarke waves her hand. "Honestly, TMI doesn't really exist with incubi. Everyone asks all kinds of invasive questions all the time. Hit me."

"I don't know. Just--no offense, Clarke, but I feel like I'd have trouble actually having sex with you? Not just because we're friends and I'm not into you like that, but--it seems like it would be too much? I don't want to have to be putting focus into not overloading during sex."

"You don't really have to, usually," Clarke says. "I have had to make sure Bellamy doesn't pass out, once or twice, but that's my job, not his."

"But you never let me pass out," he says. "So it's fine."

Monty looks between the two of them, expression torn between amusement and confusion. "Seriously, I don't see how _passing out_ is just a regular thing you worry about when you're having sex. That just sounds--"

"Complicated." Clarke takes a drink of her beer. "It's not for everyone."

Bellamy nuzzles her hair, the smell of it intoxicating and alluring, but also familiar and beloved. It doesn't really take effort anymore, to deal with the dichotomy. He loves her and he wants her and he gets her. It's great.

"It doesn't have to be for everyone," he points out.

"Just for you," Clarke agrees, leaning against his chest. "Lucky me."


	2. Clarke POV

The day she meets Bellamy Blake, Clarke is already in a bad mood.

First, she failed to set her alarm last night, so she oversleeps. It's summer and she's just doing prep, so it's not like she was a no-show for class or anything, but by the time she's showered and ready to go, it's rush hour, and she has to sit around for half an hour, waiting for the train to empty out a bit. 

The train itself is fine, which is good, but also makes her feel kind of silly and paranoid. Of course no one touched her on the train; people don't usually touch much on the train if they can help it. But at the same time, if something had gone wrong, she'd be beating herself up for not being more careful.

That's the real problem with a crowded train: no matter what happens, she beats herself up about it. There's no good outcome for her because she either did too much or not enough. There's no value-neutral experience she can have.

Once she gets to school, the downward trajectory continues. The state revised their educational standards, so she has to redo all of her lesson plans, which is bad enough when she's not already in a shitty mood. And then, to top it all off, Monty comes in with some cocky, full-of-himself human who's probably charmed every single person he's ever met in his life without any supernatural help, convinced that an incubus can't do anything to him and even if she does, it won't matter. He's probably into it.

It's not a particularly fair to him, but he's the one offering the handshake. All she does is take him up on it.

And then, nothing happens. Bellamy Blake shakes her hand, smiles, and says, "Nice to meet you. Art?"

Clarke's gotten a lot of reactions when people shake her hand. A lot of people opt out before it even happens, not wanting to feel the incubus effect at all, and she can't blame them. The ones who do shake are often people who don't expect it to work on them, people on the extremes of the Kinsey scale who don't think they'll feel any attraction to her. It's always a surprise, like a static shock, and people will laugh or startle or do _something_. And then they'll be gross or uncomfortable or pretend it didn't happen. There are as many reactions as there are humans in the world.

Bellamy's the first to not even notice.

"Art," she says, studying his face for a crack. Maybe she missed it. Maybe he's the gayest guy to ever exist. Or maybe he's ace, like Murphy. 

But Murphy's eye twitched for like ten minutes after he met her. Not everyone is the same, but if there are two groups of people, it's everyone else Clarke has ever met in one group and Bellamy in the other.

"History?' she asks.

He nods. "And social studies, yeah."

"Cool," she says. "Welcome."

She touches his shoulder, one finger touching the skin above the collar of his shirt, unable to help it. Maybe the surprise will get him, maybe it was just that he was ready.

But he doesn't seem to notice it at all. He's still smiling, easy, and Clarke leaves confused, which is honestly a big improvement over her previous mood.

She touched him and nothing happened. She touched him and his hand was warm and he had a nice smile, and they said a couple words to each other and things ended. He didn't try to touch her again or extend the conversation.

She runs into him on her way to the staff room later. She's going in as he's coming out, and he nearly hits her, reaches out instinctively to catch her. "Sorry," he says, flashing another one of his quick, bright smiles.

Maybe this is what it's like for other people to touch her, this dazed, confused, disbelieving feeling, with a churning undercurrent of attraction. He's cute. Really cute. "No problem." She manages a smile of her own. "Don't worry about it."

*

When she heard they'd hired another human, Clarke hadn't been pleased. She has nothing against humans, as a broad group, but they've had bad experiences with human teachers, who tend to struggle with demi coworkers, and, even worse, demi students. When Bellamy gets hired, there are only two other humans on staff, Niylah Hemlock--nurse, pretty cool, tried to flirt with Clarke but backed off when she said no--and Cage Wallace--science, Clarke's actual least favorite person in the world, always manages to be checking out her cleavage through her three layers of clothing. But Niylah is the exception, and Cage is the rule. The humans who aren't resentful that they have to work at a demi school tend to still struggle with the realities of being around demis all the time.

So, no matter how nice and pleasant and cool Bellamy is, Clarke's not going to make up her mind about him until summer is over and students come in. Right now, he might still be happy just to have a job, especially if he's been unemployed for a while. The reality of demi students day after day might be too much.

"Man, you really like this guy, huh?" Murphy asks.

Clarke frowns. They're getting coffee because Murphy believes it's important for Clarke to leave the house, which is some hypocritical bullshit if she's ever heard it. If Murphy didn't have to work and buy food, he'd probably never leave his apartment. He says it's because the sun hurts his skin, but other vampires deal with that. He just loves video games.

"Have you been listening?"

"Oh, yeah, I've been listening." He holds up his phone, timer still running up after twenty-five minutes. "I started this when you started talking about him, and I'll stop it when you're done."

"I'm worried."

"Yeah, you're worried about liking him."

"He's easy to like. Charismatic or whatever. The kids are going to get attached and then--"

He groans and slumps back in his fancy armchair. "Oh my god. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Tell me what to say to get me out of this conversation."

"Just nod and smile and wait for it to be over."

"I was trying," he says, holding up the phone. "I've been waiting, but at some point--" He sighs. "Look, maybe the guy's going to be a dick, I never bet against that. But maybe he's just a human who's cool with demis, and you're not going to have a reason to not have a thing for him."

She lets her head thunk down on the table. "Seriously, what is wrong with me? Everyone in the world is attracted to me and I want the only guy who isn't? It's such a stupid cliche."

"Yeah," says Murphy, unsympathetic as always. "Maybe he'll be a dick."

"Yeah," she says. "Here's hoping."

*

Bellamy--or, rather, Mr. Blake--becomes popular in the way that YouTube stars become popular, at least from Clarke's perspective. The first day of school, none of the kids know anything about him, and within a day or two, he's all they're talking about. And it's all good, too. There's the expected stuff, that he's cute and charming, but it's more than that. He's careful and considerate, informed about demis and demi issues. His freshman social studies classes are starting with a unit on demis and the issues they face in society, and it sounds like it's a curriculum he wrote and designed himself. If anything, it makes Clarke wonder if he's wasted here because their students already know what it's like to be a demi.

But there's also real value in having a human adult who's so good about demi stuff. If she didn't know better, Clarke would assume Bellamy was his own new species, a demi whose only ability is being totally unfazed by everything. She's never met anyone as good at it as he is, no matter what he says about it not being a big deal.

"See, this is what I'm talking about," she says. They've talked about his lack of reaction to her before, but he was literally _holding a student's head for her_. Clarke is a demi herself, has been here for a long time, and is mostly good with dullahans, but she's not sure she could hold a head so the kid could see if her banner was straight.

"What?" he asks, frowning at her.

"You're so chill about stuff I think it counts as a super power."

"Huh. I'd be cool with that." He flashes her a grin, all bright white teeth and charm, completely human in his appeal but no less appealing because of it. Clarke's got a sheen to her, but Bellamy has something bone-deep, something that makes people fall in love, not lust.

It's going to be a problem.

"That's not what I'd pick if I got to choose what demihuman I was, but I'll take what I can get."

"What would you be?" she asks. 

He leans back against the wall, watching the kids getting the decorations ready for the Halloween dance, trying to decide. "If I was picking? Like, not based on what would suit me, what I'd want to be."

She can't help a smile. "It was your hypothetical situation. You can set the parameters."

"Okay, picking what I'd want? I'd go with anything that can fly. Flying would be cool. What about you?"

"I'm already a demi."

"Yeah, but if you could be something else. Or would you be human?"

When she thinks about it, she always imagines being human, about not having to worry about people's reactions to her or second-guess their feelings. Humanity is still the default, the one that doesn't have any problems, as far as Clarke's concerned.

But like Bellamy says, there are good parts of being a demi too.

"I'd breathe under water," she decides. "Maybe a mermaid?"

"That makes sense."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Mermaids are cool."

She elbows him. She does it more than she maybe should, just for the novelty. Touching someone and not worrying about it: what a luxury. "What?"

"Just--mermaids usually have their own communities. Even if they come onto land, they're still--I can see why it would be nice, to have a community where you know everyone is like you. Mermaids are some of the only demihumans who get that. Sorry if that's weird to say," he adds, when she doesn't respond, but she still doesn't know what to say. He's not _wrong_ , but it's so strange to feel seen.

What she really wants to ask him is why he's like this, how he got here, what makes him this kind of human when no one else is. But Allie calls him to help hold her head again, and he smiles and jogs over, leaving Clarke to watch him go.

*

When she finally does decide to ask him, it's a few weeks later, and he's found out about the train thing. To Clarke, the train thing is a necessary evil, a calculation of risk versus effort. She has to get up early, which sucks, and stay at work late, but it means that she gets all her stuff done at school, and her home time, limited as it is, is her own. It's cheaper than getting a car, and she hates the bus.

But it's hard to explain to other people, one of those things that makes conversation awkward. No one wants to hear that incubi can't even ride the train without worrying about seducing someone. Luckily, it's easy to just not mention it. As long as she doesn't live with someone, they probably won't figure it out.

Unless they run onto the train with her, obviously. That would be the way it happened.

Bellamy pauses, clearly caught off guard, but the hesitation doesn't last long. He comes over to sit next to her, carefully not too close, and offers a small smile. "Hey."

It is nice to see him. It's always nice. "Hey."

"Students coming in for retakes?"

It's an out, but if she said yes, they'd both just be agreeing to a polite lie. He knows why she's here. There's no point.

"This is just easier," she says, with the best smile she can manage.

He leans back, looking thoughtful. "I've never really seen you with strangers."

"I'm careful about it. It's just--" She sighs, trying to figure out the words. She does meet people, obviously. She has friends, and might make more. But she doesn't think most people bond with strangers on the train, even when they're not worried about their powers. When Clarke makes friends, it's at places, events. She avoids total strangers as much as possible, and she thinks most people do.

But it's too early for all of that, so she settles on, "It's more trouble than it's worth."

"What, human contact?"

The use of _human_ is unconscious, the bias everyone has. Humanity is the default. It's how majorities work; it doesn't even hurt much.

"I get a lot of work done," she says, light. "Going in early."

"I bet."

"You don't have to feel bad for me."

"I'm trying not to," he says, with a wry smile that's somehow the most comforting expression of all time. It's nice that he's not pretending he doesn't feel bad; honesty is appreciated. "Part of why I wanted to teach demihumans was to figure out how to make stuff easier for them," he goes on, looking at his hands. "Did I tell you my sister is a centaur?"

He has to know he didn't. People remember that shit. "Wait, really? How?"

"It's on my stepdad's side."

She'd been guessing adoption, but that makes more sense, at least in terms of Bellamy being who he is. Not only does he have a demi in the family, but his mom is involved with one. He's been demi-adjacent for a long time.

"Yeah, but--" She knows humans and centaurs have relationships, the same way humans and incubi do, but the logistics are still daunting. Not that she can say that to Bellamy; he probably prefers not to think about it. "I know centaurs aren't actually half-human, half-horse," she explains, latching onto the secondary reason for her confusion, "but it still feels like a half centaur should just be a quarter horse, and I can't picture it."

He laughs too, easy. "Yeah, that does feel like how it should work."

They chat a little more about his sister she finally asks about his persistent use of _demihuman_ , and he takes her advice with ease and good grace. By all appearances, he really is just a solid, decent guy, which is probably why she feels comfortable enough to say, "I thought you were going to be an asshole, you know?"

"I am an asshole," he says, with a total shit-eating grin.

"I figured this was the only job you could get and you'd be annoyed about it. But you really wanted to work with demis, huh?"

"Yeah, I did."

"You're good at it."

"Thanks."

"Is it easy for you with everyone?" she asks. Sometimes she feels weird, pressing him so much about himself, but he does the same thing. They're feeling each other out. It's how friendship works. And she really wants to figure it out. Growing up with a centaur explains why he's cool holding onto a dullahan head, because that's a choice. But reacting to her is involuntary; that's a superpower.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't really react to me. Is it like that with other demis? Like, sirens can't persuade you? Other incubi and succubi don't tempt you?" 

"I've never met another incubus or succubus that I know about." He taps his jaw, thinking it over. "Sirens can definitely tell me what to do."

It stings a little, as stupid as that is. It's nicer, having his resistance be broad, general. If she's the only one whose powers don't work on him, that kind of sucks.

"I guess I'm not your type."

He changes the subject instead of confirming; she tells herself it's nice of him. "So what else do you do? To keep your powers in check. You always take the first train?"

"Yeah." She could stop there, but it's not like he'll stop asking. She adds, "And then I usually go home around eight or so."

He winces. "Fuck, you stay at school that late?"

"It's easier. I bring something to eat for dinner, get some grading done."

With an obvious effort, he doesn't follow-up on that. "Okay, what else?"

"Styling."

His brow furrows. "Styling?"

"Did you ever see _She's All That_?"

"Yeah." He pauses. "Is it okay to say I think it was a cop-out that she turned out to be a succubus?"

"Yeah, that was stupid." She has, in fact, gone on more than one drunken rant about how stupid the _secretly a succubus_ angle of that movie was, but she can save that for later. She's got a point to make. "And they mostly didn't know anything about succubi, so it rang really false too. But the one thing that did work for that was the makeover. If I dressed like that, it would be a lot more obvious I'm an incubus."

"Why?"

"For the same reason it is in humans and other demis," she says, only a little exasperated. Humans somehow never get it. "Just more. There's stuff you can do to emphasize your appearance and increase your sex appeal. Like you could wear tighter shirts."

To be fair, he doesn't seem to get that either, judging from the confused way he inspects himself, like no one has ever told him he has muscle definition before. "I'm going to work, I don't really want to look hot."

"So what do you wear when you want to look good?" 

"I'm having faith this is related to the question and you don't just want to critique my date outfits," he grumbles. "Usually still a button-down, at least for first dates, but no jacket or tie, and I roll the sleeves up. Nice jeans. No glasses. If I'm going to a bar or something, just a t-shirt, maybe a flannel shirt or something."

She would pay to see him in a flannel shirt, which is maybe sad. "All that stuff works for us too, but it works better. We're designed for seduction. So the more skin I'm showing, the more makeup I'm wearing, even if my hair is up or down--all of that affects how effective I am, as an incubus." He still looks confused and she worries her lip, debating pros and cons. No one else is here, so it's pretty safe. And Bellamy's immune.

And if he's not immune, this would be a good way to find out. Maybe he's just very, very resistant.

What the hell."I could try to show you?" 

"Show me what?"

"How it works. I know I don't really affect you, but you might still be able to tell there's a change."

"If you want to, yeah. No pressure."

If she wants to keep being friends with Bellamy--and she does--she's going to have to try this eventually anyway, so she might as well just do it now. He's going to need to get used to it. 

So she takes the bobby pins out of her hair, drops them into his open palm, and untangles her braid. In _She's All That_ , it would be happening in slow motion, with a swell of music, and Bellamy would be staring, jaw agape.

In real life, he's just watching her, spellbound but not enthralled. Interested but not invested.

"Noticing anything?" she prompts.

"I like your shampoo."

Her _shampoo_. Of course. "Thanks." She gets her hair artfully tousled and takes off her glasses, giving him an expectant look, and he just cocks his head, examining her.

Then he nods. "Yeah, I can see it. Interesting."

" _Interesting_?"

"Should it not be?"

"I've just never met anyone as okay with this as you are. I don't get it."

"The other teachers aren't bad," he offers, half a question. "You and Monty hang out sometimes."

"Yeah, but I can still catch him off guard, and then it's weird again."

"You did warn me you were doing that, so I was ready."

"So if I show up with my hair down when you're not expecting it--"

"I think I'd smell you coming," he says, and immediately pulls a face.

"So the smell affects you?" She doesn't want to sound too eager, but it would be nice if there was _something_. If he might someday be attracted to her, just a little.

"It's noticeable."

"Huh. Maybe you're just more sensitive to that."

"Maybe. It doesn't bother me. You smell nice."

" _Nice_." People used to die from wanting to fuck incubi, but she smells nice.

Which maybe isn't so bad. It would suck if someone died for her, and it would especially suck if Bellamy did it. If she just smells nice to him, that's far from the worst thing in the world.

"Thanks," she says, and he smiles.

"Thanks for showing me your _She's All That_ moment."

That makes her laugh. "Fuck you."

*

"I might be into Bellamy," she tells Murphy a week later. Bellamy has been on the early train twice since that first day, which isn't theoretically suspicious, but since she'd never seen him coming in that early before, it feels like it's less a coincidence and more keeping her company. And she'd like to protest, but--she likes him. If he wants to come hang out with her on the train, she's not going to stop him.

"I figured."

"Shut up. This is hard for me."

"Which begs the question why you're coming to _me_."

"Talking to Raven about this stuff is weird, and Wells is in another timezone. Plus, you brought it up."

"To try to shut you up. That wasn't an invitation for more conversation." She just looks at him, and he crumbles. "Fine. Complain. But I'm starting the timer."

Clarke smiles. "I just feel like an idiot."

"Why, because the number-one thing you're looking for in a guy is him not being into you?"

"I want him to be into me," she says. "It's not like--" She huffs. "I thought it would be cool? To just--have a relationship like humans do. You meet someone, you hit it off, attraction grows."

"And what you really want is love at first sight?"

"No." She worries her lip. "I'm an incubus. I don't want to not be myself. I _like_ bossing people around and inspiring lust. I just don't want that to be it."

"So, if he never loses his mind looking at you, you're done?"

"No. Just--it's harder than I thought it would be. Feeling like he doesn't like me. I shook my hair out and he said he liked my shampoo."

His eyes widen. "Holy shit."

"Yeah. I could live with if I didn't affect him that much, but--it's just so weird. It's nice not worrying about touching him, but I thought it would make me feel more like myself, and sometimes it does, but--it feels like something is missing too."

Murphy taps his jaw. "Okay, yeah. It's always shitty when people are like, I forget you're a vampire! That's not a fucking compliment."

"That's not what he's like."

"Just trying to relate. You know I'm bad at sex stuff." He snaps his fingers. "Actually, never mind. I'm going to be awesome at this."

"Oh?"

"I'm not into Emori like her exes have been. I love her, we have sex, but I don't have the same kind of sex drive she does. She had to get used to it. She can still do the stuff she's into, and I'm still good for it. But it's not the same for me as her. So maybe Bellamy wouldn't be, like, dying of lust, but he'd be fine you tying him to the bed and riding him for three hours or whatever. How into it does he have to be for you?"

"He has to actually like me first," she says, and Murphy rolls his eyes. "In the hypothetical situation where he wanted to date me but didn't respond to my powers at all? I think as long as he wanted to have sex and liked me being on top, it would be fine. It's not like I actually feed on sexual energy."

"And if he was just ace, he probably would have told you, so he probably likes sex as a concept. So you can figure it out."

"I'm not used to working for it."

"Welcome to my world."

"I still don't know if he's interested."

He shrugs. "So find out. People do it all the time, you can too."

"It's been so long since I even tried."

"Ugh, this is boring now," he says. "I'm out of advice and I can't tell you how some guy I've never met feels about you."

"I guess not."

He takes a deliberate sip of coffee. "Has he ever seen your cleavage?"

"He's my coworker, so no."

"Try that out. Just to see what happens. Those are a fucking nightmare."

She laughs. "That's just what I like to hear about my breasts."

"Any time. If you need to talk about this again, just talk to Raven, okay? I did my part."

"I appreciate your sacrifice."

He checks his phone. "Fine, you have ten more minutes of advice if you need it. But that's it. Use it wisely."

"Softie," she teases.

He bares his fangs at her, but she knows him way too well for that to scare her. "Shut up."

*

Despite Murphy's advice, flashing her breasts isn't a deliberate choice. She thinks about it when they're getting ready to go to the bar, but it's not like she's going to wear anything that revealing to go out with coworkers, so unless she was actually going to do an outfit montage, she didn't have an excuse. And it wasn't like that night had gone badly; every time she hangs out with Bellamy, she likes him more, and it had been really great to be with him in a casual way, just friends. It feels like the kind of thing they could do more often.

So when Raven points out it's been a while since they did a game night, it feels like a perfect opportunity. Raven even suggests she invite Bellamy, which is mildly concerning--she hadn't thought she talked about him that much--but also exactly what she was planning to do. And it's not like Murphy hasn't made it clear she's very obvious about the whole Bellamy thing.

Once they've established that Bellamy is coming, the fretting sets in. She spends so long trying to pick an outfit that she actually has to leave and do something else to get a break. After some tidying up and a shower, she takes a second look and grabs jeans, a tank top, and her favorite flannel shirt. She can put the flannel on over the tank top and unbutton it at some point. She's done it before, on board game nights, as a form of very mild cheating; there's nothing quite as satisfying as totally derailing Murphy in the middle of some intense concentration with breasts he doesn't even like. She might as well figure out if the trick works on Bellamy too.

But then the doorbell rings.

Her assumption is that it's Bellamy, just by process of elimination. None of her friends are ever early; Raven is usually on time, but Murphy and Emori are always ten minutes late, at minimum, and Bellamy seems like the type to be prompt.

The decision is made in half a second; she leaves the flannel on her bed and hits the intercom. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Bellamy, it didn't take as long to get here as I thought it would."

She smiles. "Oh, cool. No problem. Come on up."

She hears him coming down the hall, opens the door a second after his knock. It hasn't been more than a couple days since she saw him, but she missed him. His hair is a the usual mess of inky curls, his glasses a little crooked, and his eyes--

His eyes keep dropping to her chest, and his cheeks are slightly flushed. Her heart thumps with stupid, giddy excitement--the tank top works, he thinks she's attractive, he's _checking her out_. 

"So, not totally immune."

He jumps, gives her a sheepish smile. "Well, you did catch me off guard. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," she assures him. She did it on purpose, and it worked. If she didn't have friends coming over, she'd ask him if he wants to make out. If the breasts work on him, he might. He's totally attracted to her. 

But people are coming over, so instead she says, "Let me just go grab my other shirt."

"You don't have to."

From anyone else, she'd think it was a pickup, or at least a line, but he sounds like he genuinely doesn't want to inconvenience her. "No?" she teases.

"I'm getting used to it."

It seems to be true, but that's not bad. If he's in control of himself most of the time, that's kind of nice. As long as he wants her.

She shakes her head, clearing out all the stray thoughts. "Seriously, I don't get how you have such a high resistance."

"It's not like I don't notice sometimes," he says, to her surprise. "It just doesn't bother me. You're hot, it's not a big deal."

It's the biggest deal, but she doesn't say it, opting to put the shirt on in her room instead. She can always take it off again later if she wants a dramatic reveal. "Not for humans. You can be human and be hot and it's fine." She pauses, but he did say it first. The least she can do is return the favor. "Look at you."

He _does_ , which is always hilarious. Every time she mentions his appearance, he looks down like he's verifying he still has a corporeal form. "Sorry, are you saying I'm not hot enough for you to lose all control? I must be doing something wrong."

He took off his coat while she was putting on her shirt, and he is looking incredibly good. They're kind of matching, his tight t-shirt complimenting her tank top, his blue flannel just different enough from her red one that they look like they got the same guidelines but fulfilled them differently.

He definitely looks just as good in flannel as she thought he would; she tugs on his collar before she loses her nerve. "This is really working for me, if it helps."

He swallows, throat bobbing, and his eyes are dark. "Bisexual flannel, it's a thing."

She can't kiss him. Even if she's sure, for a second, that he wants it, that he _likes her_ , that she doesn't need her powers for him, if her breasts distract him like that, her kiss probably would too, and they'd still be going when everyone else showed up.

So she steps back, spots the tupperware in his hands, and changes the subject, pushing down the hope and longing and giddy rush of possibility, setting it aside for later. It'll keep.

And when Bellamy offers to stay late and help her tidy up, she assumes it won't need to keep long. He knows what's happening too, wants it too, and it should be easy, but she's never had a conversation like this before. Every relationship she's ever had has started with lust boiling over, and unless she starts taking off clothing, that's not going to happen. 

She's about to ask if he wants to watch something when he clears his throat. "So, uh, I should tell you something."

All of her confidence dies at once. He's going to let her down easy. He's figured out she's interested and he's not, and it's fine, she just has to stop wanting him. She's done it before. It was stupid, getting her hopes up.

"What's up?" she asks, attempting a smile.

"It's not that bad. Uh, I hope," he adds, throwing her again. He looks so nervous. "I just--I'm not as immune to your incubus thing as I said I was."

Her heart cracks like a dry board. "What do you mean?"

"Mostly that I'm a stubborn asshole. You looked like you were shaking my hand to show me how stupid I was for offering in the first place, so I just--" He huffs, wringing his hands. "Pretended it didn't do anything for me."

"But it did." He's always had the same reaction to her everyone does. This whole time, he's been swayed and tempted. She's been pulling him deeper into her thrall, thinking he was safe, seducing him with her stupid pheromones without even knowing it, and now he thinks--

"Yeah," he says, confirming her worst nightmares without even knowing it. "It always does. It doesn't mean--that has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

If he'd said it an hour ago, she'd be thrilled. He'd like her, just her. Now he wants her, like she wanted him to, except he doesn't get it. He's so sure what she does doesn't matter that he doesn't get how deep he is under her thrall. "It definitely does."

"Clarke."

"It's okay, I get it."

"I really don't think you do," he says, and her jaw clenches. She's the expert here.

He runs his hand through his wild hair. "Fuck, I'm not explaining it right, I--"

She fumbles at the buttons of her flannel, getting back to the view that finally broke him. "Let me help. This does it for you?"

For the first time, her heartbreak wavers, because he doesn't look down. Not even for a second. "You're gorgeous. You don't have to be an incubus to look good in a tank top."

That's true, of course. It's always been true. But it's also strange. He's trying to confess, but he's still resisting, even now, even as he's coming clean. It doesn't make any _sense_ ; he doesn't have to hide it anymore.

"What are you trying to get out of this conversation, Bellamy?"

"I just felt shitty lying to you," he says, and he looks broken open, guilty and frustrated and hurt. "But it's not like I'd tell a human that I wanted to fuck them the first time I met them," he adds, exasperation creeping into his tone, making her mouth twitch. "I might never tell them. It feels wrong that just because you're an incubus, I'm supposed to ignore all social conditioning and let you know exactly what I want you to do with me."

A wave of heat rushes through her, chest down to toes, the want familiar but unwelcome. Lust isn't productive right not.

But she has to know. She leans forward, pitches her voice low. It's not seduction, but it's a test. "Which is what, exactly?"

He doesn't even notice. "I guess it depends on what you mean. I don't actually _want_ anything from you, Clarke. Not like that. I really just--I like you," he says, and it sounds so simple, when he says it. Like that's really it. "I don't want to hook up with you to get you out of my system."

She takes the shirt off the rest of the way, and this time he does watch. It's attraction, but the kind she has for people. The kind that exists, but doesn't cripple.

Maybe he doesn't react to her the same way he does to a human, but he doesn't react like humans do either. He thinks he was lying, but he wasn't. Not like he thinks he was. Not like she thought he was either.

"I might have been trying to fuck with you," she admits, since they're being honest.

"When?"

"With the tank top." She exhales, lets all her doubt out with it. They're good at talking to each other, figuring stuff out. He's still Bellamy. "Honestly, the worst thing about--I always want people to like me for me, but whenever the incubus thing doesn't work on someone, it feels like there's something wrong with me."

He huffs a laugh. "Well, uh, good news. The incubus thing works on me and I still like you for you. That's actually kind of how I figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

He leans forward, arms resting on his legs as he thinks over his next words. "Monty was telling you it's weird for him because he's not interested and then you'll touch him and suddenly--whammy. I'm pretty much always thinking about how much I want to make out with you. You don't need to put in any effort. This is actually a little easier."

Her brain snags on how he _always wants to make out with her_ , but that brings her back. She does the trick she came up with to fuck with Murphy, thrusting her breasts out even further, the one that he told her she was going to hell for. "That's easier?"

"Jesus." He groans, checks her out, and then _rolls his eyes_. "Yes, it's still easier. I notice when the pheromones hit, I didn't notice I had a crush on you for months. I can just fight the pheromones."

It sounds like a pain, so she covers back up. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be--I don't really know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he says, too quickly. "I really don't want this to change things."

It's impossible, but also kind of weird. He wants to make out with her all the time; that seems like a change they could work on. "No?"

He rubs his face, looking vaguely miserable. "I want you to feel the same way I do. But if you don't, yeah. You're my friend and I want you to feel comfortable, but I also don't want to be lying to you."

"And how you feel is that you like me. Like--" She swallows. She'd been so sure, earlier. But now she doesn't know how to cut his feelings up, what is about her and what isn't. There _is_ something different about him, she's sure. But she has no idea what. "You want to date me," she says.

There's no hesitation. "Yeah."

It's not that she doesn't believe him. It's that he threw her expectations for a loop, and now she doesn't know what she's looking at. She'd figured out how to want him when he didn't want her like she was used to, but now everything is jumbled. Her expectations don't make any more sense than Bellamy's do.

So she just--stops fighting it. She lets herself go over to him and straddle his hips, like she wants to. This is where she's supposed to be, on top of him, in control, and she needs to know how he feels about it.

And he smiles. "If this isn't you telling me you want to date me, you're an asshole."

The relief bubbles out of her in a laugh. He's not incoherent; there must be some magic in him. "I really do. I just--" She shrugs a little, helpless. "I don't know how to be sure."

His thumb rubs her leg through her jeans, just this small, idle affection. "Sure about what, exactly?"

"That it's real."

"It's not really that hard to tell the difference. All the stuff I feel when you're not sitting in my lap is real. Not that this isn't real," he hastens to add. "But--shit, Clarke. It's all real. You're amazing."

He's still rubbing her leg and it dawns on her that she didn't ask him to, that he just decided he wanted to touch her, all on his own, and people _can_ do that, but they don't, usually. It's so easy to not seduce people because the whole fantasy is for her to make the first move, and here is Bellamy Blake, rubbing her leg without even noticing it, smiling at her like he could stay here all night and be happy.

"Can you kiss me?" she asks, and he frowns, confused for a second, but then he just _does it_ , curling his hand around the back of her neck, drawing her down to his mouth. It's the first time in her life anyone has ever kissed her first, and she hadn't really been craving that--control is in her nature, after all--but the last lingering doubts drift away and she's sure, finally. He likes her, just her, all of her. 

They can figure everything else out later.

*

"Is it weird that I'm excited about this?"

Bellamy glances at her, lip curled in half a smile. "It wouldn't be if you were excited for a normal reason, like that you wanted me to meet your family. But you're excited to see if I want to fuck your parents, so yeah, that's weird."

"I know you're not going to want to fuck them. I'm just interested to see how you react."

"In a creepy way."

"From a scientific perspective."

"I assume their powers will work on me," he says. "And I assume I'm not going to lose all control of myself and jump your mom over dinner. If I've got some kind of special ability, I think it's just--dealing with it. Recognizing what's happening and compartmentalizing."

"Now you're going to be really embarrassed when you jump my mom."

"Is it weird that I'm interested to see what meeting a succubus is like?" he muses. "Or creepy? I'm just curious about how it'll compare to meeting an incubus."

"That's weird _and_ creepy," she says, bright. "It might be a lot."

He leans in to kiss her, just a quick brush of lips, still a little novel after almost a full year of dating. He kisses her whenever he feels like it, without fanfare, without his even noticing.

She hopes she never gets used to it.

"I'll be fine, don't worry. It's not like it's going to be hard for me to not touch your parents. I can always just touch you instead."

"Honestly, the only thing that sounds worse than you getting really turned on by my mom is you getting really turned on by me and my mom at the same time."

"Should have thought of that before you invited me for Christmas," he says, and she shakes her head with a smile.

She's not actually worried, that's nice too.

She's told her parents that Bellamy is abnormally resistant to her powers, which is still the easiest way to explain, but her dad still looks spooked when Bellamy offers his hand. Humans don't do that to incubi; _no one_ does that to incubi.

"We're curious," Clarke says. "How you affect him."

"We can skip it if you want," Bellamy adds, considerate as always. "Clarke's curious but I could live with the mystery." 

Jake laughs. "It's really up to you. Some people like to get it out of the way so they know what to expect."

"Just shake his hand, Dad," Clarke says, and Jake smiles and does it. As always, there's no visible reaction from Bellamy, but Clarke knows better than to think he'd show it if he did get hit. "Well?" she prompts.

"It's not as strong as when I touch you. Which might just be that I'm less attracted to your dad. No offense, Mr. Griffin."

"I'll try to live with my disappointment," he says, wry, but Clarke can see him studying Bellamy, reassessing him. It's unnerving, to meet someone like Bellamy, who recovers so fast, who cares so little.

"So, you want to go meet Mom?" she asks.

"Now you're making it both creepy and weird," he teases. 

"I did warn you."

"You did." He smiles at her dad and grabs their suitcase, gives her hand a quick squeeze. She knows now that it sends a crackle of lightning up and down his arm, but it's not unpleasant. That he takes it in like he was made for it and moves on, that he can just forget about it without becoming obsessed. Maybe humans are building up an immunity and he's the first stage of some new evolution.

She might never figure it out, honestly. But if she spends the rest of her life wondering, she will have had a good life. So long as she's wondering with him.

"Okay," he says. "Lead the way."

And she does.


End file.
